


Lost and Found

by chris_edward (hwshipper)



Series: The Chris 'Verse [15]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alley Sex, Angst, Anonymous Sex, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/chris_edward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris reaches a turning point in his life, and doesn't find it easy. Nor does Brian. Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/77774">The Kittens</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Reference to past Chris/Edward and Brian/Ethan.
> 
> **Beta**: [](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/profile)[**srsly_yes**](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/) has my eternal gratitude

"Hey, look at this." Brian waved a piece of stiff card in front of Chris's nose. "Invitation to the opening of Ethan's new restaurant next week."

"Great." Chris slumped into a kitchen chair and glanced at the card. Lack of enthusiasm was palpable in his slouch and narrow eyes. "You don't want to go, do you?"

"No." Not really. "Just... curious." Brian looked down at the card. It was heavy and beautifully engraved in an art deco typeface. "Looks like a classy joint."

"Spent his divorce settlement wisely, has he?" Chris reached for the coffeepot.

Brian shrugged, and remarked, "The restaurant's called _Ethan's_."

Chris snorted. "He might have well just called it _Ego _and have done with it."

Brian liked that. But he decided it was best not to talk about Ethan any more; Chris had high blood pressure as it was. And thinking of that... "When's your doctor's appointment?"

"Ten." Chris sipped coffee. "Are you at the old folk's community center today?"

Brian nodded. It was a Monday, his usual day to go sit at a table for a few hours and offer legal advice in return for home-baked cheesecake and chocolate chip cookies. "Old Mrs Hepplewaite's promised me an update on her landlord situation."

Chris grinned a little. "I really would rather be at the doctors."

 

* * *

  
Brian tucked paperwork back into the file, smiling to himself as old Mrs Hepplewaite hobbled away.

A familiar figure dropped into the chair opposite, plucked a cookie from the plate on the table, and said, "Hey. I hear you give free legal advice to seniors?"

Brian jumped in surprise; Chris rarely visited him here. Recovering quickly, he scolded, "You haven't brought cake. And you're not a senior."

"I may not be old enough. But I _am _about to retire." Chris sounded sheepish. "Does that count?"

"You're--really?" Brian had been suggesting that Chris retire for ages, on and off. But Chris, a workaholic all his life, had resisted. "How was the physical?"

"Blood pressure no better," Chris admitted.

Brian wrinkled his brow.

"Doctor told me I have to slow down, take things easier." Chris sighed. "I think it's time to stop working so much. Linus should be pleased, I can start playing golf a bit more."

Linus, in his late fifties and recovering from prostate cancer for the third time, had made the decision to retire from work a year ago following surgery. He'd divested himself of all his business interests, one by one, and now spent long days playing golf with Ziggy and playing other kinds of ball games with Raul.

"You can start playing with _me_ a bit more," Brian joked.

A corner of Chris's mouth turned up. "Yeah, you middle-aged retiree slacker."

Brian had stopped full-time work a few years ago, when he'd walked away from his high-flying career at The Firm aged thirty-five. He was still a member of the New York and New Jersey bar associations, though, working individual cases when they interested him. He kept up various other small jobs for fun, fulfillment and pin money, like helping out in the Carys' mom and pop shop.

But Chris, only a few years younger than Linus, still very much worked full time overseeing his string of restaurants and bars. He'd collapsed in an unfortunate drug-related incident the year before, the same time as Linus's prostate surgery, and had been trying to reduce his stress level ever since. Apparently to no avail.

"It's the right thing to do." Brian was gentle, could see Chris was ill-at-ease with the decision. "You can afford it."

They'd sat down and done the math recently. Chris was comfortably off and could readily afford to stop working. Brian had an income from his trust fund and paid for half of everything. They owned their house outright. They liked frequent nice long vacations, and they each had their indulgences; Chris had his single malts and his Harley-Davidson, Brian had a toddler nephew who had learned early in life that Uncle Brian was a pushover compared to Mom. But generally speaking, neither of them was particularly extravagant.

"I know. I just... don't know if I can keep busy enough." Chris fidgeted in his chair. "I thought I'd wind down gradually. Over the next year or so. And I thought I'd sell everything except the steakhouse. That wouldn't be much trouble to run on its own, almost like a hobby."

Brian nodded. He knew the steakhouse was the first place Chris had bought, and had great sentimental value. Then a thought struck him. "Sell _everything _else? You mean... you'd sell the club!"

Chris grimaced, and nodded. "Yeah. Ferdinand said before that he'd buy me out if I was ever willing to sell."

"Wow." This was... major.

* * *

  
Brian hadn't appreciated just how major it was.

Chris had owned the club for almost his entire working life. It had undergone various renovations, changes of name, and changes of management over that time. But for Chris it had been a constant in his life. He had done _everything_ there. He'd tended bar, cleaned floors, painted walls, repaired leaky faucets and broken chairs; overseen auditors, coped with health and safety inspections; stopped fights, smoothed ruffled feathers, ushered away drug dealers. Many significant personal relationships had started there; friends, acquaintances, one-night stands, long-term lovers, and Brian himself. And Chris's office was on the first floor, from which he ran not only the club but most aspects of his life, business and personal.

He divested himself of other businesses first, and it was quicker than either of them expected. Within six months Chris sold off several other restaurants, diners and bars, leaving just the steakhouse and the club.

Meanwhile, the club manager, Ferdinand, found a business partner and managed to scrape up the cash price that Chris wanted. A fair amount, not unmanageable. And now the sale was signed and sealed, with a completion date in three week's time.

Leaving Chris three weeks to clear his office.

"Can I help?" Brian asked on day one, wandering around the room as Chris opened the first drawer and stared helplessly at the jammed contents within.

"If only. No, I've gotta do this." Chris reached inside and pulled out a fat wad of paperwork. "God. I should have chucked this years ago. Can you find me the shredder?..."

Brian found the shredder, then lingered and watched for a bit. As Chris delved back further, he exclaimed over places and events from many years before, way before Brian had met him. He read letters and chuckled over pictures before consigning them to shred or a keep pile. Brian soon got bored. He wandered out to the bar for a bit, then went home.

At the end of day one, Chris didn't make it home, calling Brian late to say he would sleep on the couch in his office. "I've managed exactly one filing cabinet drawer. It's gonna take forever."

"Can I help?" Brian repeated, and heard a heavy sigh down the line.

"No. I can tell I'm not going to be very good company for the next three weeks. Just bear with me."

Brian put the phone down, and ruminated on when he'd cleared out his old New York apartment a little while ago, before selling it to Ethan. Nothing like as big a task, of course, but he'd managed to accumulate a lot of legal papers during his life at the firm, and there'd been all his law school stuff... and mementos, of Mom and Dad, and the five years he'd lived with Ethan....

* * *

  
By the end of the first week, Chris had come home for only three nights out of seven, and was spending almost every waking minute at the office. He had sped up, clearing two filing cabinets. Brian visited periodically to find that as well as creating multiple bags of shredding, Chris had filled a fat box full of things he wanted to keep and bring home.

"We're going to have to build another room to put all your stuff in," Brian protested.

"It can go in the garage for now, I'll sort it out later," Chris declared. "I'll have the rest of my life to do that, right?"

"And lots of other things." Brian didn't like the idea that Chris would have nothing to do after he stopped working. Suddenly Brian noticed a small baggie sitting on the corner of Chris's desk. "What's that?"

"Coke. Found it in a drawer." Chris poked at it with a finger. "Must've been there for years. Does coke go off, do you think?--Don't worry," he added hastily. "I haven't touched it. I'm not actually suicidal, you know. I was going to give it to Ferdinand, I probably got him to buy it for me in the first place."

But Brian was having awful flashbacks to Chris's collapse the previous year, and knew he couldn't bear to have it around a moment later. He tweaked it off Chris's desk, holding it between two fingers, marched out of the room and flushed it down the nearest toilet.

Brian headed home alone that evening, moody and glum. He thought back to his apartment clear out again, remembered old letters, old photographs he'd found. Himself and Ethan in their happier days.

When he got home he dug out the old shoebox of miscellaneous life detritus which he'd stowed in the back of a closet, and had a look at the photos. Gosh, Ethan had been fucking good-looking. (Still was, of course). It was kind of nice to be reminded of that; sometimes Brian couldn't remember why he'd put up with all of Ethan's crap for so long. The guy had had his good points.

Brian wondered how the new restaurant was doing. He hoped it was successful. Brian tucked the shoebox away again, and when he fell asleep that night he dreamed about a charming blond chef flipping pancakes on a griddle.

* * *

  
By the end of the second week, Brian was utterly fed up and counting the days until this was all over and he could have his boyfriend back.

Chris was hardly coming home at all. When he needed a break, he went out to the bar and hung out with the Kittens. The Kittens were a band of young men who had recently discovered the club and adopted it as their second home; Linus was usually the center of their attention, but he and Raul were away on an extended vacation with Julio down in Florida. The Kittens uniformly adored Chris, and spent the whole time competing for his affection.

Brian had no objection to the Kittens _per se_. In the past he had encouraged Chris to have fun with them, and there was a bold flirtatious blond Kitten who Brian had a weakness for himself. But he found it aggravating that Chris was choosing to bury himself in their midst for relief and oblivion at the moment. One dark-haired Kitten had more or less moved into Chris's office and spent the time lolling on the couch, pouting and waiting for Chris to get fed up with the paperwork.

Ferdinand materialized at Brian's elbow in the upstairs bar one night to ask, "Did you see Chris? He just left."

"Left?" Brian said blankly.

"Came out of his office, down the stairs, straight out the door, didn't say a word," Ferdinand explained. "The doorman said it looked like he was crying."

Holy crap. Chris _never _cried. Brian couldn't think of a single occasion he'd seen Chris cry.

There was no point going after him, if he didn't want to be caught. He'd be miles away on the Harley within minutes. Brian hesitated for a second, then headed behind the bar to Chris's office.

He tried Chris's office door; it was locked. Brian ummed and ah'd for a minute, then slid down the corridor to Ferdinand's office. There was a key cabinet on the wall with an unmarked spare key to Chris's office; only for use in dire emergencies. Brian took it without hesitation.

Inside Chris's office, Brian found a file box sitting open on the desk. Brian flicked through contents; some marketing material for the club, posters and flyers with pictures and designs that might have been cutting edge twenty years ago but looked very dated now. There were drafts and proofs and correspondence with the designer. And... a chunk of photographs.

Glossy six by fours, from the age before digital; candid shots around the club showing people dancing, drinking, laughing. A few on top of the pile had been used in the marketing material. Brian leafed further down, smiling at hairstyles and clothes, and then stopped dead.

In the exact place Chris had, Brian assumed.

The photograph was of Chris and a younger man, shorter, with spectacles and dark hair flopping down over his forehead. _Edward_. The two of them were standing at the downstairs bar in a half embrace, Chris with an arm around Edward's waist, Edward with a hand on Chris's chest, both smiling broadly at each other, apparently heedless of the camera.

Brian sat slowly down at Chris's desk. He'd have bet anything that Chris hadn't given that photo so much as a passing thought from when he'd closed that file box all those years ago, until the minute he'd opened it that evening. It felt like a hammer blow to Brian, who'd never even met Edward... he couldn't imagine what Chris must have felt like.

He wondered when Chris might come home. Brian thought this might be a forty-eight hour disappearance, maybe a little shorter given the time sensitive nature of the job in hand.

* * *

  
Chris was back the next day, although he went to the club rather than home. Brian got the call from Ferdinand, and drove in, semi-indignant that Chris hadn't called him. All indignation vanished at the sight of Chris, wearing sunglasses at his desk, shoulders bowed and lines creasing his forehead.

"Chris, you look...like shit."

"Thanks." Chris's voice was listless. Brian noticed the file box was gone. He could see most of the contents on the _shred_ pile, and wondered where the photograph was.

"This is just so fucking hard." Chris's voice actually trembled, and Brian's heart bled for him. "It's all so hard. I didn't know how much crap I had... so many things..."

Suddenly Brian realized it wasn't just the one photograph that was causing the problem. Chris was knee-deep in the past, with reminders and mementos of his history with Edward left, right and center. Brian couldn't even begin to guess the resonances Chris was experiencing.

"And what have I got to show for it, anyway?" Chris went on. Brian frowned, not understanding. "I've worked so fucking hard, all my life, and now it's over. I sell the place, and that's that, I might as well have never been here."

And then Brian realized it wasn't just Edward that Chris was mourning. It was his whole working life, vanishing away before his eyes.

"You made a lot of people happy," Brian protested, fumbling towards an argument. "You ran places where people could have fun, enjoy themselves--"

"And that's it? Who _am_ I, if I'm not working?" Chris demanded. He pushed the sunglasses up onto his forehead, revealing eyes shot through with red veins. He looked around the office and passed a hand over his face. "I can't do any more of this now, let's go get a drink."

They headed out of the office, Brian trying to think what to say. Nothing remotely comforting sprang to mind. Instead he noticed that Chris's breath was already tinged with whisky, and muttered, "You shouldn't drink any more."

"Christ almighty," Chris said in exasperation as they came out into the bar. "I've had two Scotches! In the old days I could have that before breakfast and not even notice!"

Brian knew Chris was exaggerating, but the phrase "in the old days" rang gloomily in the air.

There were two Kittens standing at the bar; Brian recognized one of them, Carlos, a favorite of Linus for his perfect, clear skin and exotic accent. The other one was familiar too, although Brian didn't know his name. Very youthful, with light brown hair and a cute tilt to his nose. He was cupping a hand to light a cigarette.

Chris's hand twitched as they approached, and then Brian spied a familiar predatory gleam in those bloodshot gray eyes.

"Can you spare one of those?" Chris asked the cigarette-smoking Kitten.

The Kitten looked up, surprised, then seeing who it was, hastened to offer the packet to Chris. Chris tweaked out a cigarette, and the Kitten leaned forward to light it for him.

Brian watched Chris breathe out a lungful of smoke, and the desire to avoid confrontation, to duck out and leave right _now, _was powerful. With Chris's well-being in mind, and with the Kitten smiling and batting eyelashes, Brian fought the impulse and spoke more loudly than was necessary. "Chris, your blood pressure."

Chris glared and took another long drag. "One fucking cigarette."

"One is too many." Brian hated being this voice of reason. "The doctor said blood pressure goes up literally with one cigarette--"

"For God's sake, stop badgering me, you're reminding me of Wilson," Chris snapped.

Brian inwardly winced, knowing Chris had mentioned his ex deliberately to wound. But he persisted. "He should know. And anyway, you gave up, years ago, when Linus got diagnosed...with cancer...."

That was emotional blackmail and Brian knew it. Chris turned white and his hand started to shake; the cigarette-smoking Kitten looked uncomfortable, and Carlos's large dark eyes widened to huge.

"It wasn't lung cancer," Chris barked, but clearly the cigarette had turned to ash in his mouth in more ways than none. He grabbed an ashtray and stubbed it out viciously. "There, happy? I tell you, it's a fucking good thing you flushed away that coke or I'd be doing a line of that instead right now."

Something snapped inside Brian's brain; a fuse blew, wiring short-circuited, and his flight instinct kicked in, big-time. He could _not _take any more of this shit. He had to go, now, or he would say something he regretted--

He was outside walking towards his car before he was even aware of making the decision.

END OF PART 1  



	2. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's decided he needs to get away from Chris for a while.

****Brian got home, threw a few overnight things in a backpack, got back in his car, and called Chris's cell. He was pleased to find it roll over to voicemail and left a deliberately short message, in as neutral a tone as he could manage. "Chris, I'm going away for a couple of days, maybe I'll go see Tina and Tim. See ya'."

He arrived at his sister's house on the outskirts of Princeton well past midnight only to find nobody in when he knocked. Brian had forgotten, Tina was away in Europe on her annual fall vacation. She'd asked him to keep an eye on the place. Whoops, oh well, at least that meant she'd hidden a key for him in the potted plant by the door.

Inside, the bathroom doorknob came off in his hand so he spent a while screwing it on. He managed to get it to stay, although he rather thought it hadn't drooped at such an angle before.

He wandered around the house for a while, remembering the purpose of her trip. His nephew tiny Tim had been exposed to other children's familes for the first time after starting kindergarten recently, and come home asking awkward questions about who his father was. (Brian was awaiting the day that Tim discovered not everyone had two cohabiting uncles). Unable to give a specific answer, Tina had decided to revisit the vineyard owner from Italy and the ski instructor from Sweden, who were the prime candidates. She was apparently sure that once the right man was in the same room at the same time as Tim she would just _know_.

"Or you could wait for Tim to grow up and see if he has a penchant for wine or winter sports," Brian had suggested whimsically.

He had also tried to suggest that whichever man it was might not be very pleased to learn he had a five-year-old son, but Tina had brushed that off, saying it wasn't like she was asking for money, or time, or anything actually; she just wanted to know.

Wondering if her theory had actually worked, and thinking she would have had time to visit both men by now, he switched her computer on and sent her a short email.

_So was it wine or winter sport? The house is fine BTW and I fixed the bathroom doorknob.  
_  
The next day he woke to find a reply:

_Tim now knows his dad is a ski instructor in Chamonix, who is charmed to find out he has a son. We also spent some time among the vines, where I figured my man there would be an ace father too,so I did my best to get Tim a brother or sister, we'll see. Love Tina. P.S. Thanks for house-sitting but the bathroom doorknob wasn't broken!_

Brian barely noticed the P.S., as his brain blew a gasket at the prospect of having another nephew or a niece.

He spent the morning channel hopping and web surfing, between bouts of snoozing and wondering what to do. He could just stay at Tina's house and wait for Chris's crisis to pass. But he felt lonely and vaguely dissatisfied.

He remembered Ethan's restaurant. It would have been open a good six months by now. Brian idly googled _ethans restaurant new york,_ and found as well as a glossy official webpage, a number of restaurant reviews. He read with increasing interest; not bad. Not bad at all. Brian recalled Ethan both fuming and celebrating over reviews in the past; critics could be so harsh. But the tone here was generally positive.

He wanted to go see what it was like, but couldn't see himself persuading Chris to visit anytime soon. Perhaps now would be a good time.

* * *

  
He drove into the city the following afternoon, left his car in a garage, and spent a while walking Manhattan streets, pausing for coffee once or twice. He wandered around Central Park and stopped to watch a baseball game. He'd lived and worked in New York for years, knew it well, had once played baseball there himself devoutly every weekend... but he felt a certain detachment from it all now.

In the early evening he started walking with more purpose, until he arrived at his destination; a smart hotel, much more upscale than anywhere he would normally stay. He looked up to see a smart chrome and black sign off to the side; _Ethan's_.

The restaurant was part of the hotel, but also had its own entrance door from the street. Brian walked slowly up the steps, taking in white marble and purple velvet. A maitre d' in tux tails stood at the door, and Brian promptly felt under-dressed in his casual shirt and pants. Maybe they wouldn't let him in without a jacket and tie.

"Tables are all full for dinner, but you can sit at the bar, we can serve food there too," the maitre d' offered, and Brian figured why not.

Inside, the restaurant was all black lacquer walls with shining chrome fittings and gleaming wood surfaces. Diners looked smart but not overly so; men in suits, women in skirts and blouses. An after work destination for office workers paid above average, Brian decided.

He ordered a premium export beer, sat back, sipped, and waited for something to happen.

* * *

  
Five minutes later, a familiar figure slid onto the bar stool next to him.

"Fuck me, it's Brian!"

Brian looked up, and even though he knew what he would see, he still caught his breath. His tall, handsome ex looked better than ever. His blond locks were short and slicked back under a small chef's hat, his eyes gleamed with health, vigor, and a hint of suggestion. A white apron was spotless and worn over a smart suit; worn to signify his chef status rather than to get dirty in the kitchen, Brian deduced.

"You look great, Ethan," Brian admitted.

Ethan beamed. "You're looking tired, Brian. What brings you here?"

"Curiosity. It's a great place, Ethan, congratulations." Brian was gruff. "Looks like business is good?"

"It cost me a small fortune to start up, Brian, I can tell you. But business is excellent, thank you," Ethan gushed. He made a show of looking all around. "Is Chris with you?"

"No."

Ethan waited, and when Brian didn't elaborate, said, "Oh?," in a voice thick with suggestion.

"He's probably screwing a twenty-one year old at the moment," Brian heard himself say, and was astounded at the note of bitterness in his voice.

Ethan reached across and touched Brian's hand gently. "Let me treat you to dinner here. I swear you'll never get a better meal in your life."

* * *

  
Dinner was indeed possibly the best meal Brian ever had in his life.

The maitre d' had been quite right that all tables were taken--except the little table where they were now seated, tucked up and out of the way, near the kitchen but not obtrusively so. "My table," Ethan explained. "I can see everything from here."

Brian let Ethan order for him, figuring the master chef would know what was good. Ethan had a few words with the waiter, then told Brian, "Don't go anywhere," and vanished into the kitchen to issue instructions.

Focaccia bread served with a dish of exquisite extra virgin olive oil arrived soon afterward. Ethan reappeared bearing a bottle of ruby red wine, and sat back down with Brian.

The food was uniformly delicious and the wine as smooth as silk. Ethan didn't eat anything himself except to taste dishes as they arrived, and one by one they passed muster from the signature chef. There was risotto, rich and creamy, with a variety of different cheeses that exploded in the mouth; butternut squash soup so thick that Brian could almost stand the spoon up in it; barely sauteed zucchini, which was fresh enough to have been newly picked; a perfectly rare filet mignon.

"I don't remember seeing any of this on the menu," Brian remarked at one point.

"Anyone can order from the menu," Ethan gave a dismissive shrug. "Not everyone can order _off_-menu, knowing everything in the kitchen and what's at its absolute best. There are always ingredients for specials in limited supply, we only offer them to our best patrons."

Brian put his knife and fork down after the last mouthful and said, "That was awesome, Ethan. Really awesome."

"You haven't seen dessert yet," Ethan said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and at that moment Brian spotted a small cart being wheeled in their direction. He waited for it to get closer, then leaned forward to peer at what was on it. A small burner...

"Banana flambé!" Brian realized with a jolt.

"Absolutely," Ethan said, getting to his feet. The chef pushing the cart backed away, and Ethan took his place and turned on the flame.

Brian sat back in a daze, and watched Ethan cook and serve flambé like he'd been born to it. Neither of them needed to mention the significance of the choice; it had been how they'd first met, all those years ago. Ethan flambé-ing, out in the bistro, and pausing to chat to the shy admiring Brian at the bar.

"Divine," was all Brian could say, as piping hot sweetness and cinnamon melted in his mouth, and alcohol trickled down his throat.

"I knew you'd like it." Ethan cast a wickedly self-satisfied smile in Brian's direction. "I don't cook so much in the kitchen anymore, but I do this kind of thing out here quite a lot."

"You always did like to show off," Brian remembered.

"Some things don't change." Ethan let out a little sigh. "Why did we break up again?"

It was rhetorical, but Brian felt constrained to remind him. "You cheated on me and dumped me on the day I left my job! You'd met Chuck the Fuck, remember?"

Ethan shuddered delicately. "What _was _I thinking?"

"You got me." Brian spoke dryly. He put the spoon down on the plate, sorry to have finished the meal.  
"Let me show you something," Ethan said with sudden enthusiasm. He stood up and held out a hand. Brian hesitated but took it, and found himself led out of the restaurant into the hotel. They got in an elevator to the top floor, some thirty stories up.

Above that, there was another small glass elevator with a spiral staircase winding around it; they rode it up another floor to the roof. They stepped outside into a small garden with perfectly manicured shrubs in containers, and a tiny fountain tinkling away.

Brian breathed cool fresh air and stared around at the starry night, riveted. "Ethan, it's almost like you're trying to seduce me. Or something."

"Honestly, Brian, you can be so _dense _sometimes," Ethan said, with a faint air of exasperation. And then he stepped forward and kissed Brian on the mouth.

* * *

  
For about thirty seconds it was awesome. Lips and tongue and teeth all oh-so-familiar and ooh, yeah, instant hard-on, _fantastic_\--

And then suddenly it was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Panic rose in Brian's throat; he wrenched himself away and fled blindly down the spiral steps, around and around, his hand sliding down the handrail, feet stomping stairs.

The thing was, the _thing _was, the thing _was_, he could get laid in every gay bar in New York and he knew Chris wouldn't turn a hair. But if he so much as mentioned Ethan--Chris would go ballistic.

At the bottom of the staircase he paused, out of breath and not knowing what to do; and then the glass elevator door opened, and out stepped Ethan.

To Brian's relief, Ethan's face glinted with amusement rather than annoyance. "You turn up out of the blue, mutter something about Chris screwing twenty-one year olds, let me wine you and dine you." His tone was comical. "And then you're not even going to put out!"

"Just call me cocktease," Brian muttered.

Ethan laughed at that. "Brian, I had forgotten how adorably eccentric you were."

"I should go find a hotel room." Suddenly Brian felt tired. "Maybe here, if it's not too absurdly expensive."

"You don't have anywhere to stay?" Ethan raised a surprised eyebrow. "Then hey, come crash at my place. It's very comfy. As you know."

It had been Brian's apartment for years. "I'm not sleeping with you."

"You can take the guest room. I promise I won't come and ravish you in the middle of the night." Ethan winked.

* * *

  
It was fun to be in his old apartment again. Ethan had redecorated, but in a way Brian might have done himself; neutrally tasteful for the most part, with occasional splashes of color and glamor. Ethan bustled around merrily, finding pillows and blankets for the spare room, Brian wandered around admiring pictures and furniture, and examining the CD collection.

He went to use the bathroom, which hadn't changed from when Brian had lived there at all, except there was a new fancy mirror with a frosted glass border, new towels and... new toothbrushes. Plural. Two toothbrushes.

Brian stared at them for a moment, then his eye fell on other successive multiple items. What the fuck--someone else was living here!

Or at least spending enough time here to leave a set of toiletries lying around. He headed out of the bathroom as a key turned in the front door lock. Someone who had a key, too!

The door opened and in came a dark-haired smiling man who Brian had never seen before.

"Jules!" Ethan fairly leaped out of the guest room, and caught the newcomer in a warm embrace. They kissed, and Brian figured this must be the owner of the second toothbrush.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Ethan had never been alone, always bounced from relationship to relationship, usually seeing the new squeeze before he'd quite gotten round to breaking up with the previous one. Brian should have guessed.

"Brian, meet _Julien_," Ethan said, rather proudly, embuing the name with a certain Gallic flair. "Jules, this is my old friend Brian!"

"'Ello, Brian," Julien drawled, and Brian discerned an accent; French, he thought. "So pleased to meet you. Ethan has talked about you so much."

_Which is more than I can say_. "Uh, pleased to meet you too," Brian stumbled over the words.

Julien excused himself and vanished into the bathroom.

Brian hastened to corner Ethan. "Ethan, you never told me you had a boyfriend!"

"You never asked," Ethan pointed out with impeccable logic.

Brian was rendered speechless for a few seconds. "But Ethan, if I had…fallen for your charms tonight, what would you have done? Where would we have gone?"

Ethan looked surprised. "I'd have suggested we get a room at the hotel."

Brian closed his eyes, counted to ten, then asked, "And _when _might you have gotten round to telling me that you had a boyfriend?"

"Oh, the morning after, probably," Ethan said carelessly. "Why complicate things?"

Why indeed! Such an Ethan response! And suddenly Brian was glad. Glad that he hadn't succumbed to temptation and slept with Ethan. Glad that he had Chris—who might fall into bed with other men occasionally, but would never lie about it.

* * *

  
They sat in the living room and chatted sociably into the night over a bottle of cognac. Brian discovered that Julien was also a chef in a hotel restaurant, although he didn't run it; he was a line chef. And he wasn't French, he was Swiss, but he did come from the French region of Switzerland, to the west of the country. They had met when Ethan had sought expert advice while trying to perfect his fondue recipes.

"Nobody does fondue like the Swiss," Ethan proclaimed. "Cheese, chocolate, they can melt anything."

"Hearts," Julien deadpanned, and Ethan smiled at him, and Brian thought there might be real affection there. Of course, Ethan always believed he was in love with whoever he was going out with....maybe it was always true, while it lasted.

The cognac went to Brian's head and made him sleepy. He eventually dozed off, and when he woke up a little later he found Ethan and Julien on the couch opposite, smooching. The two of them were lying along its full length, Ethan on top, Julien beneath. They were both fully clothed, but Ethan had a hand up inside Julien's shirt and Julien possibly had a hand inside Ethan's pants. Brian couldn't quite make it out.

He squinted and moved his head, and yes, Julien definitely had a hand inside Ethan's pants; Brian could see Julien's fingers splaying along Ethan's generously endowed crotch...

"We 'ave a spectator," Julien muttered, and Ethan turned his head to look at Brian.

Brian staggered to his feet. "Don't mind me. I'm going to bed, goodnight,"

"Goodnight," Julien and Ethan echoed, and Brian lurched out to the guest bedroom and fell down on the bed. He thought he might fall asleep almost immediately, but he'd been careless enough to not quite shut the door completely, and a low moan from the living room stalled his slide into oblivion. Moans became gasps and sighs and _oh God oh God mon Dieu, yes there, now, oui, yes, yes yes...._

Brian stuck his own hand in his pants and brought himself off in silent sympathetic synchronization.

* * *

  
Brian didn't leave the next day because there didn't seem to be any reason to. Ethan seemed delighted to have him around, cooked him breakfast, urged him to stay as long as he wanted, fluttering long eyelashes and giving Brian small nudges occasionally. Brian was careful not to respond to the flirting, but figured he might as well stay for a day or two. Julien didn't seem to mind.

It was kinda fun being back in his old apartment for a couple of days. Brian fell into a pattern; he slept in until noon, had long showers, watched a lot of DVDs, went to bed late.

He ate very well indeed. He had dinner at Ethan's again once, and at Julien's restaurant twice. He tried the fondue, both cheese and chocolate, and agreed solemnly with Ethan that nobody did fondue like the Swiss.

On Friday morning the world he'd left behind finally intruded when his cell rang over a leisurely brunch in a diner.

"Brian!" Linus's voice vibrated down the line. "Can you believe, Chris thought he could retire without anyone throwing him a party! Raul and I are on our way back to Jersey today. We'll be celebrating tomorrow night, Brian, at the club. We'll see you there."

"Um." Brian passed a hand over his eyes. "I....I'm in New York at the moment."

"Then I'm calling to tell you to get your ass back right now." Linus clearly knew something was afoot. "No ifs, no buts. I don't know why you're in New York, but I don't care, as long as you're back tomorrow night. This is _Chris _we're talking about."

Brian closed his eyes. "I know."

"Then I will see you tomorrow." Linus's tone brooked no argument.

Bran opened his mouth to reply, but stopped, as he would have been talking to a dial tone.

He was still wondering what to do when he went clubbing that evening with his hosts. It was after midnight when they set off; neither Ethan and Julien could leave until their kitchens closed.

"Tonight, we need to get Brian laid," Ethan declared as they strolled into a club, the three of them with arms linked, Ethan in the middle. Julien chuckled.

"Ethan, no," Brian protested, feeling his cheeks going pink behind his beard.

"Oh come on." Ethan was firm. "You deserve some fun! Especially with Chris off fucking twenty-one year olds."

Brian didn't like Ethan badmouthing Chris, but found himself tongue-tied as to how to object. "It's not as simple as that."

"It never is." Ethan was dismissive. "Hey, what about him over there? He's cute."

* * *

  
Brian resisted initial attempts to pair him off by Ethan, Julien, and a bunch of their friends, but as it turned out in the end, getting laid was on the agenda after all. And not difficult. He was ordering a round of drinks at the bar, when a tall man came to stand next to him.

"I've been admiring your pretty ass from across the room," he said.

Brian felt himself blush faintly, and turned to look at the man. He had streaky blond hair, rather like Ethan, and blue eyes almost as vibrant as House's. He was wearing black from head to foot, in the way Chris did sometimes; jeans, tight black T-shirt than showed off chunky biceps and abs. His hands, resting on the counter, were rough, reminding Brian of Raul's hands when he had been out working on a fishing boat. Brian mentally tagged him for some kind of manual laborer.

"Thanks," Brian muttered, handing over cash to the bartender.

"Cut to the chase," the man in black said. "I'm here looking for someone to fuck tonight, are you that man?"

Once upon a time this kind of thing had happened a lot. In the six month aftermath of his relationship with Ethan, Brian had attempted what House had termed his _long slow suicide by sluttishness. _He was long since over that, but the coarseness of the approach brought a rush of blood to his groin. "I think I am."

He went to give Ethan and Co. their drinks, letting Ethan's observations ("Brian, you dog! You've got a live one!") wash over him, then rejoined the man in black. They sat in a corner and chatted and fondled a bit through one drink, necked and groped through a second, and then they left the club through a back door.

They didn't get very far. The alleyway out back was dark and deserted. The man had Brian up against a wall almost immediately; kissing and running hands everywhere, then his fly was undone and rough fingertips grasped his cock.

Next thing the stranger dropped to his knees, took Brian's cock in his mouth almost all the way and stuck a finger up his ass at the same time. Brian almost came on the spot. He held out for a few minutes, stroking and tugging helplessly at feathery streaky blond locks, then jerked backwards before spurting over the man's shoulder.

"Fucking amazing," he gasped, clutching a fistful of the man's hair in one hand.

The stranger got to his feet, kissed Brian on the mouth and muttered, "Assfuck?"

He reached into a jeans pocket for a small square foil packet as he spoke. Brian nodded breathlessly, relieved, as he hadn't got a condom himself (he could have gone back into the club and asked Ethan for one, and how funny would Ethan have found _that_). The man undid his own fly, pulled out his cock which was large and hard and red already; snapped the condom on expertly, and murmured, "Turn around."

Brian faced the wall, resting his forehead against cool abrasive brick, heard the man spit, felt rough wet fingers probing briefly, and then _ow fuck ow_ long searing pain that made him jolt and graze his cheek against the wall. He gasped, on the verge of saying _stop_, but the pain was ebbing away fast and in its place was a growing sense of excitement, fullness, taking it in _all the way _now and turning the man behind him into a gibbering trembling thrusting hunk of muscle and sinew. Craggy hands grasped at his hips and shook as the stranger came, shooting hard and fast.

They stood for a moment, still linked, all heavy breath and sweat.

"Awesome," the guy said eventually, stepping backwards on still unsteady feet and reaching to strip off the condom.

"Yeah," Brian breathed back, zipping himself up, feeling the night chill for the first time.

And suddenly he longed for Chris to be there. Chris had always had a thing about watching, and there was nothing as good as finding him ready to take his turn.

* * *

  
Brian applied the handbrake and turned off the car engine. He flicked off the headlights, and enjoyed the sensation of being plunged into near-darkness. The window was open and he sat breathing the night air and listening to seagulls screeching for a minute. The sea smelled fresh and clean.

It had been fun being in the city for a while, good seeing Ethan again, but it was great to be back on the New Jersey coast. He'd left Ethan and Julien a gift to thank them for their hospitality that he knew both chefs would appreciate; a small jar of top quality saffron.

He licked his lips and tasted salt, and the sensation made him suddenly aware of the more earthy smells and sounds around him. Music was thudding loudly from the club, a short distance away along the beach; voices shouted and the scent of weed arced its way into Brian's nostrils.

Brian got out of the car and made his way along the beach, opting to scuff along in sand rather than take the path. As he approached the club, the lights and music intensified; he saw it was busy even for Saturday night. A small line of young men were waiting patiently to go in as the doorman carded them one by one.

"Hey," Brian murmured, sliding past the queue. The doorman nodded in recognition and Brian saw him reach for his walkie-talkie; Chris would know he was here in a few seconds.

The place was heaving. Brian was briefly amazed, then realized the immensely well-connected Linus would have been on the phone to more than just him. There were many familiar faces, the entire local gayborhood was there; and many unfamiliar faces too, blasts from Chris's past, Brian suspected.

And there was Chris, standing at top of the stairs to the private bar. He looked a little tired, but also every bit as irresistibly attractive as Brian had ever seen him; soft fair hair, firm thighs clad in black leather pants. Brian felt his heart thump against his ribs as Chris came down the stairs and met him at the bottom.

"Brian," Chris said, and threw both arms around him in a bear hug. They kissed, and Brian felt himself start to melt; it was long and sweet and incredibly tender.

"Come upstairs," Chris said. "Everyone's here; Linus and Raul came back from South Beach, they brought Julio with them, and Bob, too. And there's Ziggy, Brandon and Tony, Jeremy, Ravi, Jai Ray..." Chris's voice trailed away as they started up the stairs. Then he asked, "Linus said you were in New York?"

"I hung out with Ethan for a few days," Brian explained.

Chris closed his eyes for a second, then said, "You don't need to tell me, I don't want to know."

"Nothing happened," Brian was swift to explain. "He's got a new boyfriend, anyway. Nice guy, a chef too, Swiss, called Julien."

"Right." Chris nodded, willing to be reassured. They reached the top of the stairs, and he paused to put a gentle hand to Brian's face, where the graze had formed a light scab. "Brian, what happened to your cheek?"

"Scraped it against a wall," Brian explained, then decided Chris might be tickled to know how. "I did get laid, just not by Ethan. I got fucked by a guy in the alleyway behind a club."

"Really." Chris's gray eyes went wide and dark.

The private bar was full of familiar faces, but Chris bypassed them, taking Brian's hand and leading him around behind the bar. Brian just managed a brief wave at Linus, who gave him a thumbs up sign back, before they went through to Chris's office.

Inside, Brian took a few seconds to stare; the room had been almost completely cleared. Only furniture was left: desk, chair, filing cabinets, couch. A final box of possessions sat on the desk, waiting to go. The walls were empty too, and Brian noticed Chris's favorite picture, the view of his house from out at sea drawn in pencil, clad in bubble wrap and tucked into the box. He knew it would have been the last thing Chris packed away.

There were also two Kittens hanging out, the blond one Brian was rather partial to was sprawled in the desk chair, and the dark one Chris had a weakness for was lolling on the couch. They both looked up as Chris and Brian came in, but Chris didn't so much as glance at them before shutting the door and turning to pin Brian to it.

"Tell me more," Chris said, his voice husky, hands flat against the door on either side of Brian's head.

Brian took his cue from Chris and ignored the gawping Kittens. "It was a guy in a club. Don't know his name." He had been told, but didn't remember, hadn't really listened. "Tall. All dressed in black, like you."

Chris crushed Brian's mouth with his own for a few seconds. "Go on."

The air seemed to be sucked from the room; Brian felt his breathing quicken and his heart start to thump. "Uh...he picked me up at the bar. Said he was looking for someone to fuck."

Chris pressed the full length of his body up against Brian's; Brian felt Chris's hard-on through both their pants, and heard his voice go up into a near squeak. "We made out for a while, then we went out back--"

"To an alleyway," Chris muttered, nipping at Brian's earlobe, nuzzling his neck, unbuttoning his pants.

"To an alleyway. He blew me first, down on his knees--"

Chris dropped to his knees, and Brian honestly thought he was about to pass out. His eyesight failed and the room faded to black, his hearing evaporated, all his senses left him except touch--and the only touch he was aware of was a mouth around his cock and strands of soft hair under his hands.

He tried to pull sideways, but Chris wouldn't let him, pushed him back against the door and held on tight until Brian just couldn't take any more, and came into his mouth with a burst of ecstatic relief. He felt Chris swallow and gag a little.

"He didn't do _that_," Brian managed to gasp.

Chris stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Glad to hear it. So, then what did your anonymous guy do?"

Brian turned around, pressing his forehead against the cool smooth wood. "Ass fucked me."

"Glad to hear _that_," Chris breathed into Brian's ear, and Brian heard the snap of Chris's belt buckle being undone, heard him spit, and then God yes Chris's cock pressed hard up against his tailbone, rubbing, digging gently and then easing in.

Slower than the stranger had done, but pushing just as far, just as fulfilling, just as _fucking--hot--_in and out and back and forth, and harder and faster and _Christ_, Chris, babbling incoherence into Brian's ear as he came like a train.

One of the Kittens clapped and the other whooped. Chris and Brian stood for a moment, panting, exhausted.

Chris sighed a little into Brian ear. "I thought you might forget to come back."

Brian grasped Chris's hand and held it tight. "I'm back."

END


End file.
